Take Me To Church
by aphtrashbin
Summary: Two voices left behind the Iron Curtain, with only each other to have and to hold. This story is the love they shared at that time, told in those two voices. Cold War Centric PruHun, pretty explicit scenes at times. (and by that, I do mean sex scenes).


When they had met, there were many things he hadn't known about her. Times had changed. They had changed. He had grown from the child he had once thought he was destined to die as, or perhaps he hadn't. She had grown into her figure as a woman, and also had grown from the unforgiving teenager she had been.

The time was 1961.

The air around them was frigid, their small, slow breaths stuck in the air around them, along with all the words they had never spoken to one another, frozen in the air, never reaching the ears of the person they were meant for, and so they, too, remained frozen- not in time, but in the eyes of the other. The person who stood next to him was as foreign to him as he was undoubtedly to her. And yet, and still, there was that undeniable familiarity; the urge to grip each other as a child would grip a cherished blanket, a baby's unconscious need to grab their mother's garb.

Had they ever really known each other? Every word they had ever said to the other was calculated, meant for diplomacy, meant for war, every motion they had made had been done for some ulterior motive, those motives overpowering the few times they had shown their feelings in a raw, pure way, unadulterated by the petty politics of man.

"Well, what are we supposed to do now?" He asked her in a soft voice that was filled with the cries of his citizens gunned down by those of the USSR, those left in the pit to die as those soldiers who were there to supposedly protect them kept them caged like animals, leaving their body in the hole as family and friends called, begged for the soldiers to help them before they died there. The deep and dark anger of Soviet Union's actions to the "brain-drain" of East Germany paled in comparison to the twisted sense of hell the once-powerful nation, the once game-changing country, felt as he looked at that wall in front of him, disgusting in its steadfastness, revolting in what it represented, the lose of his freedom, his brother, his very heart and mind.

He felt her small, calloused hand against his shoulder, and didn't have the heart to shrug it off. Perhaps the fact it was calloused still was the reason he didn't, perhaps it was because his heart was a battleground for nations that had little care or need for him or his brother outside of ally ship and numbers, and he didn't know what he was feeling outside of pain anymore.

Her small hand, so delicate and yet so rough squeezed his shoulder. "We do what we always have." She whispered in a language that made a few human heads turn to them in confusion, one that was long dead but still recognizable to him, and he laughed a bit, shaking a bit.

Red eyes filled with tears of the wounds that were not bloody and red, sought out hers, and he smiled a bit crookedly, chuckling without humor. "And what is that, Magyar?" He humored her wish to speak in an old language, the language of two carefree children becoming tainted with pain and blood not even a thousand years later.

"Survive." She murmured, her eyes seeking his and finding them, green and red meeting with a collision that caused tears to spring to her eyes as well, and her comforting squeeze turned into a tight grip, filled with her anguish and desperation. "We cannot escape. So, we survive." Confident words were spoken in a quibble, her lips wobbling as she struggled to stop the tears before they started. His hand covered hers, and squeezed as well, before his free arm wrapped around her body, bringing her close and hiding her face while she shook and sobbed, hands tightly wrapping themselves into his heavy coat, still sobbing out words of how they were going to survive this.

"We will, Elizabeta, Erzébet." He murmured, holding her tight against his chest as they stared into the wall, which was simultaneously an abyss. The representation of the world they had lost, friends, family and loves alike. The very solid wall represented nothing solid at all, not to them. It represented the gaping hole now present inside of them, cut out with great pleasure from the man they had known as Russia not even a century earlier. "We always have. We always have."

The albino heard her weak return of, "Gilbert," and he nodded, kissing her forehead in a gesture of comfort, of love unspoken, and whatever she had been meaning to say escaped her lips in a harsh breath in, and then out, becoming vapor and though he was able to see it, it was still intangible. He smiled a bit, laughing in a half-hearted way.

"Perhaps we should be flattered." Green eyes rolled as the man prodded fun at their situation. "We're this much of a problem to him that he had to do this to us. We're that much of a problem, that much of a thorn in his side. I knew he admired something about me." The woman in his arms snorted, pulling away to smack him upside the head.

"It's not admiration so much as disgust, perhaps irritation." She grumbled, though her tears were now only the ones dried on her cheeks, and so he, Gilbert, gave her a cheeky smile, before making a fist and rubbing it all over her head, making the brunette laugh while she complained, attempting to push him away from her, and being unsuccessful. "Ugh, you're really annoying, you know that?" But Hungary was smiling at him, Elizabeta wasn't really mad at him.

"You obviously are mistaken." East Germany, Gilbert, scoffed. "The proper word for that is awesome."

She smacked him far harder for that, and he fell over from the force, still a bit weak from everything that had happened, and gave her a hard time while she apologized worriedly, helping him stand before taking him back to their new apartment, unable to live in their previously-owned estates, but that wasn't entirely horrible- they still had each other, after all, even with all the words frozen in the air around them, or the ones stuck in their stomachs, unwilling to be admitted to being there at all.

XXXXX

The two of them settled into what seemed like a grey and dulled life. Hungary had been long-stripped of her previous cover, her jewels and gowns- that life, the life with her now ex-husband, that life was gone, never to be lived again. She was left with the fading memory and fading man who had opposed the two of them in those times. Now, that fading man was sickly and quiet, as compared to boisterous and obnoxious. He had gone to a meeting with Soviet Union, and it seemed his entire energy had been drained. He was sitting in a tattered chair, in tattered clothes, his eyes turned to the ground, lacking color in his already pale complexion, _hollow_.

Elizabeta looked at him and saw a shadow of a man who had once been a complete _ass_ but so _filled with life._ How could he had come this far, sunk this low? He wasn't there, not in the way he had been. If she spoke, he would respond, but without heart, without that spark of fire behind it, contradicting her on the most base level.

It was now 1962. He was sick, as was she, but she knew that Gilbert was hit far harder by Soviet than she was. Sure, she was his enemy, but Gilbert represented so much more than that. Despite what Hungary had gleaned from sparse comments regarding his "role" in Nazi Germany, Russia assumed that he was at the forefront of what had hurt the Soviet Union in that time, largely due to Gilbert's communications with Russia at the time before he was…unavailable, as Gilbert referred to it, but also do to Gilberts absolute refusal to reveal to Russia how truly weak he was.

Hungary didn't quite agree with his noncompliance with telling Soviet Union what had really happened post 1941, but she understood. She really doubted that even if Gilbert did tell him the true events, that Ivan would not believe him, but rather would spit in his face and scald the number tattoo on his hand in an attempt to ignore the evidence. And, would send him back to the Gulag as punishment.

She gently rubbed his hands, telling him that she was going to try to get the gas to light again, and if the fire still wasn't working, she would get more blankets.

He nodded, agreeing, but grumbled, "I'll just get the blankets," below his breath, getting up and shivering a bit. This cold was different from the one he had faced in his youth. It sunk into his bones, made him ache and hurt, sunk into his heart and froze him over.

The two of them were punished for an attempt to get a message over the wall to West Germany, and so were living in the tundra of Siberia, Gilbert returned after a few months of them being separated.

East had been a lot worse off then, when he had just been returned to her, the doorbell to her cold little shack not even being rung when he was dumped, she opened the door to the sound of scratching and found him there, beaten and bloody and halfway frozen to death, the frostbite being a bitch to recover from either way because it was so cold, and the gas didn't really work.

She still remembered how blue he looked in the face, the clear blisters that were starting to cover him. Gilbert couldn't die permanently from it, but if he died like this, he wouldn't wake up for a long time. His eyes had been open, but near unresponsive to her presence, not even blinking immediately when she snapped her fingers. He was confused, and so struggled with her at first, until she got a blanket and some food under his nose, slowly dragging him inside and closing the door.

Elizabeta was no doctor. But even she knew that he was damaged from that cold, the tissue still damaged. She knew that frostbite had long-term effects, as did hypothermia that severe. It looked like he might have some brain damage, but once again- she was no doctor. The best she could do for him now was to live with it, and keep him warm and alive.

 _Though she convinced herself that even if he did die, he would come back, she really didn't know that. He was so weak now…_

Gilbert did his part in working to stay warm, and once he was steady on his feet again, he asked if they had an axe to go get firewood. The two banished nations ventured into the woods, and chopped down the few pine trees they found, attempting to make fire, succeeding after a while and relishing in the heat while they rewarmed their limbs, Gilbert complaining quietly about how much his body ached.

Their hands found each other, their shadows lengthened by the fire before them, and yet, their shadows _shortened_ by the fire before them. She felt his head lay against her shoulder, his skin cold, red eyes staring into the fire, and she wondered when the fire only became a reflection, not something that resided inside of him, but then again, she knew, and yet did not know that answer.

She squeezed him gently, laying her head on top of his, sharing their warmth.

XXXXX

In 1963, things finally started to turn up for them, it seemed…at least...they were for him. Ulbricht was instituting some new economic policy, letting him finally catch a break from the chronic illness known as communism.

That June, he was allowed to cross into the Western part of Berlin by his boss- Gilbert had done it under the guise of wanting to seem important to the President of the US, that he was still up and kicking, that he was doing well under communism.

Of course, he didn't do it for that. He was doing it for far more selfish reasons.

The Western side of the wall was much more luxurious than his half, most of the people looking at him curiously, one meager man who looked more starved than not coming out and leaving the military escorts behind. He took out his cane once they had turned back, honestly too weak to walk without support.

He asked quietly where the speech by the US President was going to be to a young man, smiling a bit. The West German man looked at him with eyes that broke upon seeing his shaking grip and unsteady gait, the young human asking, the ailing nation, if he would like assistance. The albino shrugged, and agreed.

"Why are you over here?" The man asked him. "Are you a military official? You couldn't be...you're leaning too much…much too thin. Please, let me get you something to fill yourself with, you look more dead than not."

Gilbert looked at him quietly. "Please…I'm here on their business…I agreed to it so I could see someone. I need to see him… but he'll be where the Americans are." Gilbert coughed, looking shaken still, and the young man nodded, assisting him to the area where the foreign servicemen were.

Gilbert looked around, craning his neck to see him, the young man steadying him while he was the edge of falling. "Who are you looking for?" The man asked him worriedly.

Gilbert let himself fall to the ground, his legs giving out from beneath him. "Ugh…" He mumbled. "He's not making it easy…"

"Sir? Who are you looking for?" The man asked again. "What is your name?"

"Oh…" Gilbert laughed. "Ah, I'm Gilbert Beilschmidt. I'm…I'm looking for my baby brother. Ludwig." He coughed again, smiling. "And who is this young man helping my ailing self today?"

The man had gone pale. "O-oh…you're…" He licked his lips. "Oh. I'm Helmut Kohl. I'm a legislator for the West…" He nodded. "Right. I will find him for you. What should I tell him?"

"Say that USSR gave him a goddamn present, and to get his big blonde ass over to me." Gilbert muttered. "I'm supposed to take a recording of the speech…to make sure I'm not talking to anyone."

"I will record it… let me go find Mr. Beilschmidt for you." He said, bringing him to a bench to sit. "I'll do that task. He will be beyond excited to see you again, sir." The young man said again, and the sickly nation nodded, handing off the recorder quietly as he sat down. The man ran off, Gilbert calling out a quiet thanks afterward, too shocked to really say anything.

There was a quick movement in the crowd, and as it got closer, Gilbert spotted the blonde hair. He grinned weakly as Ludwig pushed himself out of the crowd. "Yo, West." He said, raising a hand and waving it once before letting it drop.

He was about to stand, but the younger nation quickly beat him to the punch line, sitting down beside him and bringing him into a comfortable, and suffocating hug. Gilbert choked up a bit, letting the younger nation hug him. "Bruder? How are you doing?" Ludwig asked, and Gilbert tried to stop his tears before he started.

"Ugh…I'm okay." He mumbled. "Not great-but alive. Resisting as much as I can." He admitted. The blonde felt him over, looking at him with blue eyes that searched his.

"Gilbert, you feel starved. You look like you're _dead_." He hugged him again. "It's alright, please, let me feed you…"

The older nation looked over him, and smiled. "Uhh…I only have until the big guy's done. I'd like food…" He said wistfully. "I can't leave this area though."

Ludwig looked at him worriedly, before he hugged him again. "Kohl will record the speech for you. There are shops around here. I'm not going to let you leave without proper food in your stomach." He assisted his older brother up, frowning a bit. "Why are you this shaky on your feet? It's not like you?"

Gilbert grumbled, sighing. "Siberia, the Gulag, frostbite, blah, blah, blah…" He sighed, hanging off of his brother, the same man stiffening as he partially revealed what his life over there was truly like.

"Is this going to put you in danger for…more of that?" Ludwig asked, lowly.

"Oh yeah." He snorted. "But I always am. Ivan hates me. I'm in danger either way. So, I'd like to see you and get some food." East Germany looked at his brother, who had stopped in his tracks, back stiff. "Lutz?" He asked quietly, hand squeezing his shoulder.

"He's watching me." Ludwig murmured. "East…" Blue eyes looked to him, on the verge of tears. "I'm sorry..." He put money in his hands, before letting him go, the albino feeling tears spring to his eyes as his stomach dropped. The western piece of Germany nodded, before he turned away, leaving Gilbert there, balancing onto his cane.

Gilbert looked around, and saw America looking directly at him, blue eyes hardened, unwilling to trust his presence. The albino grinned, going over to get something from a street vendor as he sat down to listen to the US President talk about the future, one that he couldn't see even though all these people blessed with living in the Western owned piece of Berlin, and snorted as he mispronounced his words.

"I'm a jelly donut." He muttered in German, laughing in faint amusement as he took the recording from Kohl, seeing America talking sternly to Ludwig, and closed his eyes as he walked back through the wall, the Soviet guards waiting for him, taking him as the blonde chased after him, getting stopped at the gate, the albino disappearing into the hands of the military.

He still heard the other calling for him as they loaded him up, taking his recording and telling him his fate hung in the balance.

Somehow, Gilbert couldn't find it in himself to panic or worry about that. He was already deadened inside when his brother let him go. He knew that Ludwig did what he had to, but he also knew that his punishment was going to be far more severe than the blonde's. And that was okay.

That was what he had planned when he told Russia that he had done everything; that Ludwig was innocent, even though those who he was claiming, that somehow he had done it even though he was detained through most of the war, had tortured Prussia. He claimed it, to protect Ludwig.

It was to keep him safe, but who could keep him safe now?

Nothing ended up happening, but the soldiers did their best to intimidate him, despite how unafraid he was of this.

He was sent back to his little apartment, the Hungarian woman there and worriedly checking him over, making sure he had not been harmed, Elizabeta whacking him over the head as he mentioned he had sought out Ludwig, telling him to be quiet, since they had probably bugged the place. Gentle lips found his forehead, telling him that his fever was down some, the two of them finding comfort in their interlocking arms, his lips eventually finding hers and telling him that they should put on a show for him, then.

Green eyes looked at him, surprised, breathing out a small breath, eyes wide, before she pushed him down, kissing him more forcefully, her hands pressing his down beside his head, her body pressing down on his, her hands leaving his hands to grasp the sides of his head, kissing him and parting only briefly to breath in and out, looking to each other and trying to find warmth in him, sharing hers with him.

"Lizzy…" He murmured, his arms wrapping around her back, gently untying the back of her clothes, pulling it down quietly, but the woman was quickly undoing her shirt, telling him to hurry up, and as he refused, she grew upset, burying her face in his chest, her hands clamped onto his opened shirt.

"Gilbert, please…make me alive…please _be_ alive, don't leave me here again…" She whimpered, hot tears falling onto his chest, and the albino pulled her down to kiss her, sitting up and pulling her blouse away, revealing her breasts, his hands pulling it away, looking at her and flipping them over, pulling off his top throwing their clothes to the side, leaning in slowly and powerfully to suckle her neck, her chin lifting up as her hair dragged on the carpeted flooring, his left hand trailing down beneath them, under her skirt, and making her gasp as he delved beneath her underwear, the lace providing an interesting feeling compared to his cotton pants, her back arching beneath him, making her press up into his body, her arms wrapping around his back while he explored slowly and carefully.

"I will do my best." Gilbert murmured, "I love you, Elizabeta…I will do my best..." And he sunk into another kiss, this time with _demand_ in it, more than need, more than lust, his feelings erupting from within, _demanding_ her to answer him, and she did, returning it with her hands wrapping themselves in his hair, hanging onto him while he pulled off her skirt with his right hand, his left hand's fingers pushing into her entrance, the wetness making her squeeze her legs, shaking as a moan escaped her, her mouth open and eyes shut, her back arched once again, letting him feel her and let their feelings bubble over.

He rubbed her pale skin, once a beautiful glowing color and now completely and totally greyed, and yet she was still _Hungary_ , still _Elizabeta,_ still his best friend and his first and only love. Gilbert's pale lips formed her name against her heated skin, teeth sinking into her soft skin, making her breathe in suddenly, her eyes opening suddenly, biting her lip as she breathed out in several small exhales, looking at him with sudden desperation, begging him with her pants for him to hurry things along, though he had no intention of doing so.

" _Lizzy…"_ He mumbled quietly, shaking as he held onto her, her skirt removed, the woman Gilbert was looking at was laying there with only her panties on, with his left hand still inside them, fingers inside of her, her breasts large and revealed, her nipples hardened from arousal and cold, her long brown hair spread against the floor.

" _Fuck me, please, Gilbert._ " Elizabeta whispered, breathing excitedly as he unbuckled his belt, pulling down his pants, and pushing the shoes off his feet and then forcing the pants away, kicking them to the side, his underwear showing his clearly aroused cock, making her breathing hitch, and the man complied with her desire, pulling her panty off with his right hand, pulling it down and away from her crotch, the hair that was present making a rough contrast to the wetness and softness and _heat_ coming from inside her, her vagina dripping and the under him moaning.

Elizabeta watched with hunger, a deep and unstated need within her, begging for Gilbert to fill her, utterly and truly. And he delivered, pulling off his underwear, his cock twitching as he stood on his knees above her, her eyes looking to it and knowing what to do, wrapping her mouth around it and groaning, suckling and licking the tip as she bobbed with some experience, grunts now coming from Gilbert, her hands trailing up his carved belly and feeling his too skinny, but still muscular frame, up to his chiseled chest, her fingers scratching him as she sucked and twisted her head around him, making him moan louder, the man desperately trying to get more out of her, the taste of precum in her mouth making her pull away with satisfaction, looking to him with heated eyes, a small smile coming onto her face, coy with it's small twitch of the lips upwards, making him groan for her, her partner now feeling that heat inside his cock, making him desperate for more of it, to _complete_ them.

Gilbert soon pushed her back onto the floor, his hands gripping her breasts and fondling them with interest, biting one of them with some force, not with malice behind it, but sexuality interlaced with a primal need, his body, his cock grinding against her soft skin, slowly finding its way down to her crotch as he slid back down on top of her, their hands laced on each side of Elizabeta's head, a comfortable smile on their faces as he pinned her down, leaning in to get another taste of her lips, before he leaned over, and her fingers opened her entrance for him, enticing him and he fell for it, slowly sliding into her and the two of them groaning with need and vitality, their heartbeats increasing and synchronizing, making him speed up his original gentle sliding in and out into a needy and heated pounding, her hips trying to meet his as she attempted to get more friction out of the motions.

Fingernails scratched his back, and his hands gripped her ass, lifting her up as well to force himself deeper, his own nails digging into the skin as he bit her neck, sucking the skin and leaving his mark against her.

Their shared desire accumulated into larger and larger bubble, one that popped as she squeezed in need, her body spasming lightly, hitting orgasm, and the added tightness had him cumming deep into her moments after, with only a few added thrusts into his one true love. She had been moaning with her mouth open too long, as drool trailed off of one corner of her mouth, and he licked it up, before she dragged him into another kiss, the two of them rolling onto their sides as she giggled, asking him why he had licked her face breathlessly.

Gilbert had no answer for her other than to sink into her arms, hugging her tightly, begging her to never let him go, to stay with him- _to love him back._

Once again the quiet absorbed their unspoken words, but they looked to each other, and the desire remained, hot and heavy in the room with them, a presence that hung over them, brought them together. Elizabeta sat up, grabbing a blanket and hugging him close, Gilbert eventually pulling out, now flaccid, and she giggled again, pecking the tip of his nose with affection, asking him if they could do this again, to which he readily agreed, and so they held each other, the warmth they had for each other blocking out the cold of the poorly heated apartment.

XXXXX

a/n: I have no excuse. guilty pleasure here. historical hetalia, pruhun and fucking smut. nice.

I'm open to suggestions on cold war events to write on. each chapter will consist of 3 scenes, this one was just the beginning? (maybe)

anyway. Continue?


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